out.”  After that the lubras, in a private quarrel during the washing of clothes, tore one of the “couple of changes” of blouses sadly; and the mistress of a cattle-station was obliged to entertain guests at times in a pink cambric blouse patched with a washed calico flour-bag; no provision having been made for patching.  Then just as we were wondering what else could happen, one night, without the slightest warning, the very birds migrated from the lagoon, carrying away with them the promise of future pillows, to say nothing of a mattress, and the Maluka was obliged to go far afield in search of non-migrating birds.

Dan wagged his head and talked wise philosophy, with these disasters for the thread of his discourse; but even he was obliged to own that there was a limit to education when Sam announced that “Tea bin finissem all about.”  He had found that the last eighty-pound tea-chest contained tinware when he opened it to replenish his teacaddy.  Tea had been ordered, and the chest was labelled tea clearly enough, to show that the fault lay in Darwin; but that was poor consolation to us, the sufferers.

The necessities of the bush are few; but they are necessities; and Billy Muck was sent in to the Katherine post-haste, to beg, borrow, or buy tea from Mine Host.  At the least a horseman would take six days for the trip, irrespective of time lost in packing up; but knowing Billy’s untiring, swinging stride, we hoped to see him within four days.

Billy left at midday, and we drank our last cup of tea at supper; the next day learned what slaves we can be to our bodies.  Because we lacked tea, the interest went out of everything.  Listless and unsatisfied, we sat about and developed headaches, not thirsty—­for there was water in plenty but craving for the uplifting influence of tea.  Never drunkards craved more intensely for strong drink!  Sam made coffee; but coffee only increased the headaches and cravings, and so we sat peering into the forest, hoping for travellers; and all we learnt by the experience was that tea is a necessary of life out-bush.

On the second evening a traveller came in from the south track.  “He wouldn’t refuse a woman, surely,” every one said, and we welcomed him warmly.

He had about three ounces of tea.  “Meant to fill up here meself,” he said in apology, as, with the generosity of a bushman, he offered it all unconditionally.  Let us hope the man has been rewarded, and has never since known what it is to be tealess out-bush!  We never heard his name, and I doubt if any one of us would know the man again if we saw him.  All we saw was a dingy tuckerbag, with its one corner bulging heart-shaped with tea!

We accepted one half, for the man had a three-days, journey before him, and Sam doled it out so frugally that we spent two comparatively happy days before fixing our attention on the north track, along which Billy would return.

In four and a half days he appeared, carrying a five-pound tea-tin on his head, and was hailed with a yell of delight.  We were all in the stockyard, and Billy, in answer to the hail, came there.